Chandelier

I leave that seat open for her every day. It sits there in the middle of the room, as empty as always. She always comes at the same time. And I’m just torturing myself hoping that she’ll come before the waves of doctors come through.

She’s not coming today, I know it. She’s found another home, another “sick” patient to visit. I’m not important anymore.

Yet I find myself lying awake that night, staring at that chair, hoping she’ll appear. And all it does is haunt me; that fucking chair. She’s isn’t here. She promised she’d come back. She told me to wait, to be strong; she’d be back the next day. Turns out that was all a pile of bullshit.

The doctors come once a day, sometimes twice. They check my pulse, my vitals, make sure I’m taking my medicine, which they don’t know I’m throwing down the drain when they’re not here. What they don’t know won’t hurt them. And it won’t hurt me either. It doesn’t help, really, the pills. I tried them once for a few weeks. They only made me more disoriented.

The medicine is what they hide behind, the doctors. I’ve been here for months now and they have no idea what’s wrong with me. And instead of saying that I’m normal and sending me home, they stuff those tiny little capsules down my throat. Maybe if they just leaved me the fuck alone, they’d realize that there is nothing wrong with me or my brain.

But of course then, they wouldn’t get their paycheck. We can’t have that, now can we?

I’ve been waiting three days to see her. Three days. She’s never been away for this long before. Well, that’s a lie. One time she was gone for an entire month. I couldn’t stand it. I was losing my mind more than I was being stuck inside these cursed walls.

It’s not until night has fallen that fourth day that she appears. I’ve just come back out of the bathroom from pouring out my night’s worth of medicine. And there she is, sitting in that chair, staring at my bed. She’s never here this late. I just stand there for a few minutes, watching her. She doesn’t move. Her body is so small, so fragile. She can’t be any older than eight, yet her mind and soul take on an age I know nothing of.

Won’t you come speak with me?

I can hear her voice echoing through the room. It’s sweet as a wren’s call in the morning light. It’s a sound that I cannot fight. As if someone’s controlling me, I wander to my bed and sit.

She stares at me with those sea green eyes. It takes all of my energy to not melt into her tiny hand.

Why don’t you want to see me?

“You were gone for so long. I didn’t expect you to come back.

You missed me.

“I did.” As much as I hate to admit it, it’s the truth. She’s my only hope, my only friend. My husband has abandoned me, sent me to this hellhole. He hasn’t called, he hasn’t written, he hasn’t even visited once. Eight months I’ve been here. Eight months I’ve sat waiting for him to come. Eight months I’ve been consoled by this girl, a girl who is no more than a memory, a vision. Yet she is the closest person to me.

We sit in silence as we always do. Sometimes she talks, other times she doesn’t. I wish that she would talk. I still don’t know much about her.

You let me die, Mother.

Her words shock me. So much so that I cannot comprehend the words. Mother—she called me Mother. I’m no mother. I was never meant to be a mother. No child of mine ever survived. Three miscarriages. There has to be something wrong with me. It has to be a curse from the devil. God wouldn’t put life into my body just to take it from me again.

From that point on, that’s all we talk about; the life we could’ve had together. We make memories that never happened. Great, more fucking memories to boggle my brain. I hope the doctors don’t find out what’s going on. They’ll just give me more pills.

I get no sleep that night. I stay up all night with this little girl, creating the life we never had. I don’t even move when the doctors come in the morning. They work around my stiff position against the wall. It seems that they don’t give a damn about the little girl. I know that they can see her. How can they not? She’s right there in front of them.

It isn’t until one of the doctors pushed the chair out of the way that I react.

*       *        *

I wake up in a similar room, but I can tell that it’s not mine. The wallpaper is a soft pink rather than a blistering red. The bed is against the wall next to the door rather than opposite the door. And the chair…the chair is gone.

I bolt up and immediately regret it. The pain in my head is unbearable. Crying out, I grip my head and lay down again, squeezing my eyes shut. Maybe if I focus on something completely different, the pain will go away. But all I can think of is what’s going on. What happened? Last I remember the doctors were trying to force more medicine into me.

You struggled.

Her beautiful voice is there again. It immediately relaxes me. I peel open my eyes to see her in a silvery chair, sitting beneath a chandelier I’ve just noticed is hanging from the ceiling.

They pushed my chair across the room and you lashed out. I appreciate the gesture by the way. You didn’t have to defend me.

It all comes back to me now. The doctors pushed the chair out of the way. The girl fell to the ground. I saw red. I attacked every doctor in sight. I scratched my skin. I punched one of the doctors in the face.

That’s when they stuck me with that needle. And here I am now. They must have thought the room had been the reason for my outburst. If they would just open their eyes though, they’d see the girl and understand why I freaked out.

You want away from all this, don’t you?

Boy, do I ever.

I have a way out; a way you can live without everyone in your personal space, forcing those pills down your throat. Wanna take me up on that?

I don’t respond. I don’t understand. No matter what I do, there will always be doctors stuffing those shitty pills into my mouth. I will never be free; never.

It isn’t until she pulls a rope out that I realize what she’s offering me. A way out. Freedom. No doctors or family to force anything upon me.

She takes my shocked silence as a yes and wraps the rope around an arm of the chandelier. It shakes a bit as she tightens the knot, but it doesn’t fall. It’ll hold my weight, I know it. She makes the noose and offers her hand to me.

Come. Be free of this world. You deserve better.

I don’t give it a second thought. The girl steps off of the chair and helps me step onto it. As I slide the rope over my head, I think of everyone I won’t miss: those damn doctors, my husband who never had faith enough that I’d get better, my coworkers who gave up on me after I completely lost it at work that one day.

All those people can go to hell for all I care. I’m going somewhere better, somewhere I can be free of all this shit.

That’s all I can think of as I step of the chair.

*       *        *

Everything is dark. I try to look around, but everywhere I turn, it’s black. Where am I? The girl promised me something better than the hellhole I was living in. This most definitely isn’t it. Maybe I have to pass through an area before I can get there?

It isn’t until I hear the whispering that I open my eyes. When I do, I realize that I am still in the room. The beige ceiling is staring down at me and that chandelier is taunting me from above.

I scream, scream like I will never be able to scream again. It’s a bloodcurdling scream, one that would normally force me to cover my own ears. But this is my rebellion, my protest.

The doctors rush to my side, placing their hands on my shoulders, offering calming words. But I only scream louder. Louder so they can’t talk. Louder so they have to let go of me. Louder so I can drown out the sound of my own thoughts.

They bring out the needle again. Is that all they can do? Poke me with needles until I decide to cooperate? Impressive.

As the world fades around me, I stare at the chandelier hanging above me; that damn chandelier that failed me. It was my way out, my way to safety. Yet here I am still, to live out my short, pathetic life in misery.

They saved me, those damn doctors. All I wanted to do was save myself. Then they had to stick their greasy little hands into my business. And now I’ll be left to live out the rest of my life with that fucking chandelier and that fucking chair as the only reminders of the life I should’ve had.